


Maxxie and Tony

by moonlight69



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 10:18:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2808839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlight69/pseuds/moonlight69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's six years after college, and Max has drifted apart from his old friends, except for Tony, who is always there for him. Now it's time for him to be there for Tony again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maxxie and Tony

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vettel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vettel/gifts).



It was true, what they said about your college mates. The people you’d grown up with, shared your life with, seen every day, the ones who’d shared laughs and tears, and in their case, tragedy and death...after college, those friendships seldom survived. Oh, they’d email now and again, some of them, or text if they were in town and grab a pint together, but they had new lives now. There were walls between them, walls of unfamiliarity, of experiences no longer shared. Inside jokes now required explanations, and still didn’t ever ring as funny as the ones they’d had together. New names came up in conversation, the names of strangers to Max, new friends that his old friends were sharing experiences with.

It had happened to him as well, of course. He was in London, and he’d met new mates, new lovers, people that meant the world to him that were strangers to those he’d grown up with in Bristol. And so while he never said no to those pints, to “catching up with an old friend,” it was never as easy as it had once been, hanging out with Michelle or Sid, Jal, even Anwar. 

He and James had lasted a year after they came to London; he and Anwar had lasted less than half that. Work hadn’t been easy for Anwar to find, and having to cover Anwar’s share of the expenses on his own meagre earnings had worn away at their friendship. Five months after they’d all come to London, Anwar had returned to Bristol. The last time they’d spoken, he was still there, working in a bakery now doing deliveries. Their friendship had mended somewhat with the passage of time, but Anwar, too, had his own life now. He was even engaged, to a nice Muslim girl, and his parents couldn’t be happier. Maxxie had met her once or twice, and she seemed nice enough. Despite the distance between them now, he was happy for his friend. He was happy for all of them, really.

But with Tony, it was different. Tony’d kept in contact with him, ringing him every few weeks just to check in, to catch up, to swap stories of how things were going. It was Tony he’d gone to when things had gone to hell between he and James, and Tony had given him the tough love he’d needed to pick himself up and keep going. It was Tony who rang him when he was having a bad day, because Max understood in ways that no one else did. It was Tony who’d been there with him, even if only by phone, to share his excitement when he got a new role, to ease his disappointment when it had gone to someone else. It was Tony who had come to London from Cardiff after Max had torn his Achilles tendon during a rehearsal, caring for him when he could barely walk. And it was Tony who had made him stop feeling sorry for himself when he moaned that his dancing career was over, Tony who’d told him not to give up, who’d suggested ways to keep in shape during the long healing process, who’d even paid for a personal trainer when Max couldn’t afford to, to make sure that once the tendon healed he’d be as close to top form as possible. It was Tony who’d made sure his dream of becoming a dancer hadn’t been extinguished sooner than it had to be.

Now Tony needed _his_ help, and Maxxie was more than happy to give it, particularly as his timing had been perfect. Max’s flatmate had been cast in the ensemble of a revival of Sunset Boulevard with a touring company, and had put all of his belongings in storage and departed three weeks earlier.. So when Tony rang him and said he was moving to London to look for work now that he’d finished school and wanted help finding somewhere to live, Max had been thrilled to tell him there was room in his flat.

Some of Tony’s belongings had already arrived, shipped by courier, and were stacked in the bedroom in readiness, but Tony himself wasn’t arriving until today. Max had offered to pick him up at the train station, but Tony had insisted he would just take a taxi, so now all there was for him to do was wait.

After about 20 minutes of peering out the window every few minutes, watching for the taxi, he decided to be productive. Shoving the sofa against the wall, he put his phone in the speaker dock and queued up some music. He did some freestyling to warm up and then worked on his routine for next week’s audition. Caught up in the music, he didn’t hear the door buzzer until Tony laid on it for several seconds.

He bounded across the room and silenced the music, then went to let his friend in. “Sorry. I was working,” he explained as he opened the door with a grin. “Hullo.”

Tony smiled his crooked smile, eyebrow arched in amusement. “Course you were,” he commented. “I would have been worried if you weren’t.” They both laughed, and then Max stepped forward and embraced his friend briefly.

“Well...welcome home?” he said breathlessly, releasing Tony and reaching for one of his bags to help him get it all in.

“Cheers.” Tony stepped inside and surveyed the room slowly. “Not bad, Maxxie. You’ve done well for yourself, haven’t you?” 

Max shrugged a shoulder, smiling bashfully. “Just got a few lucky breaks, you know. And anyway, if it weren’t for you, I’d probably be miserable, working in a shop or something and living in a box. So...thanks for that.”

“You’re a twat. You did the work. I just kicked your arse,” Tony pointed out sensibly. “Where should I put my stuff?”

“Right! Sorry, sorry, it’s just---fuck, it’s good to see you, Tone.” Max laughed and shook his head, dragging Tony’s bag to his room. “Here you are. Hope you like it.” He shuffled the bag to the end of the bed and then did a pirouette, flourishing his hands. 

“It’s fine.” Tony set his other bags in place and rubbed the back of his neck. “God, I need a shower. The train was a nightmare, no surprise.”

“Yeah, they always are,” Max commisserated. “Down there, door on the left,” he explained, leaning out of the bedroom door to gesture. “Go ahead and wash up. I’ll make us something to eat. Unless you’d rather go out.”

Tony laughed and shook his head. “I just got in, remember? Let’s not make any grand plans just yet. We’ve got loads of time, after all.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Good point.” Maxxie chuckled. “Sorry, I just--dunno what to do with myself, I guess. Anyway, you go shower. I’ll make a curry, yeah?”

Tony nodded, lifting a bag onto his bed to find a change of clothes. “As long as you promise to stop fussing,” he chided, giving Max a knowing smirk. They both knew that Max was a natural caretaker. It was his nature to make a meal, offer a shoulder, help a drunk friend get home and tuck them into bed. It was just what he did.

“I’ll try,” was all he could promise. He watched Tony for a moment, excited to be starting this new chapter in their lives, and then popped into the kitchen to start fixing dinner.  


* * *

Dinner had gone well, and Max had been able to relax, to fall into their old patterns of conversation easily enough. They’d caught up on each others’ lives while they ate curry at the small kitchen table, and it felt nice to have someone else in the flat again. He’d teased Tony about going into journalism, telling him they’d all thought he was destined to be a politician. It wasn’t really true, though, at least not anymore. The accident had changed him, and while he’d mostly recovered from its effects by the end of the first year, the mean streak that had been one of Tony’s defining characteristics had gone. He was still sarcastic, still disparaging at times, but going through all of that had perhaps made the at times ugly “games” he’d played with his friends’ emotions no longer appealing. Whatever the reason, it was a change for the better, and at times Max even thought that getting hit by a bus had been good for Tony in the end--though he would never say it aloud.

After dinner, they’d sat on the sofa and had a few beers each, making plans together and separately. Tony planned to allow himself a few days to get settled before he started submitting his CV, so Max made an effort to arrange his schedule so they could spend time together, hit the town. He wanted to introduce him round and show him what life in London was like as soon as possible.

He’d gone to bed happy and had fallen asleep quickly, but the flat’s peace was shattered in the early morning hours by hoarse shouting that roused Max. He pulled on some tracksuit bottoms over his pants and went down the hall to Tony’s room. The shouting had stopped, but he still knocked softly. “Tone? You all right?” he called, then opened the door to peer inside.

Tony was sitting up in bed, covered in sweat and breathing hard. He looked up as Max slipped inside and shook his head mutely. “I didn’t know you still had them,” he said quietly, moving to perch on the edge of Tony’s bed.

“Not often,” Tony said quietly, reaching for Max’s hand, although Max wasn’t entirely sure he was even aware he had done. “It’s just because I’m somewhere new. They’ll stop again after I get used to it.” In the dark, his gaze was averted, as if he was embarrassed that he still had nightmares. As if Max would ever judge him for that. He’d seen everything Tony had gone through as he recovered. If the occasional nightmare was the worst thing leftover from all of that, he thought Tony was doing pretty damn good.

“I’m sorry,” he said with a small shrug. “D’you--can I do anything?”

Tony was quiet for a long moment, long enough that Max began to wonder if he was going to answer. “Would you...stay?” he finally murmured. “Just for tonight. It helps.”

“Oh. Sure. Course.” Max squeezed his hand as Tony shifted over, making room for him to climb beneath the duvet and stretch out next to him. He hesitated, then brushed a stray lock of Tony’s hair from his forehead and kissed his temple. “I’m really glad you’re here, Tony,” he whispered as he settled down to get some sleep, taking his friend’s hand again and lacing their fingers together, a constant assurance that Tony wasn’t alone, would never have to be alone.

“I’m really glad you’re here, too, Maxxie,” Tony confessed after a moment. He closed his eyes, and then a small, mischievous smile curved his lips. “ _Now_ do I have to gay you?”

They both laughed and Max curled against Tony’s side. “Shut up and go to sleep,” he said fondly, closing his eyes. They were going to be just fine, one way or another. And together they would take London by storm.


End file.
